


Cosa Nostra

by couldbeworseright



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mafia AU, Road Trip, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 13:23:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/couldbeworseright/pseuds/couldbeworseright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the seemingly-unimportant son of Uther Pendragon runs into trouble with the Sicilian Mafia whilst on holiday, it falls to Merlin Emrys to save the day. Arthur finds Merlin infuriating, and the feeling is mutual - but as their relationship grows, Merlin's ties to the Cosa Nostra become a burden, a secret he must keep.<br/>Pursued from Sicily up to Naples, Florence, Venice and Paris, Merlin and Arthur must battle against powerful enemies, cruel assassins and their own guilt and fear. Well, the path to true love never did run smooth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Cosa Nostra was the name given to the Mafia in Sicily. Literally translated, it means "Our Affair."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the translation of the Italian phrases, either hover over the phrase or read the notes at the end of the chapter. Thank you and enjoy reading!

_Palermo, 1991_

“F - Father?” Arthur’s hands were shaking so badly that he could barely hold the telephone to his ear. He gripped the receiver more tightly, feeling it slip in his sweaty fingers.

“Arthur, is that you? What’s the matter?” Uther’s voice was rough with sleep, taut with concern. Arthur shuddered, tried to swallow around the bile in his throat. “Arthur? Are you still there?”

“Father, I’m – I’ve – I need to come home. At once. I’m not sure how I’ll make it out of here, but if I can get to the airport, maybe I can – oh, god…” Arthur broke off. He felt tears coursing down his cheeks: he lifted his hand to his face, and it came away wet and red. He became aware of a dull ache around his right temple. He bit back a sob, pressing his eyes tight shut.

“Arthur. Arthur. Are you there? Arthur, talk to me.” His father’s words were a low hum, tuning Arthur back to the present.

“Yes, Father. Sorry, I’m shaken, I – someone just tried to kill me, Father.” It sounded ridiculous as he said it; he felt a mad urge to laugh. Who would believe that anyone wanted to kill Arthur Pendragon?

“I see. You disregarded my advice, then.” Uther sounded more angry than concerned.

“I did what I thought was right, Father, but – I can’t stay here, not any more. They’re after me now, I can’t stay. But I don’t know how to get out, I don’t think I can get out…”

“Quiet, Arthur. I made arrangements for this eventuality. I will put them into effect. In exactly ten minutes you will leave your house. You will take no belongings with you, there isn’t time. A car will pull up, you will get into it. Call me again when you are out of Palermo.” Arthur heard the clinical click of the receiver being replaced before the line went dead. Shakily, he shifted from his position crouching behind the sofa, and crawled towards the front door of his house. Far away, so faint that it might have been his imagination, he heard the sound of shots. His breathing quickened; his heartbeat was a throb in his chest and his throat and his right temple. He stared at his watch, luminous hands glowing in the dark.

Nine minutes.

*

“… yes, Mr Pendragon, at once.” Merlin dropped the telephone, not bothering to put it neatly back on the hook. He took one deep, steadying breath, then ran out of the tiny, overstuffed kitchen, down a cluttered corridor and into a small bedroom. It was crammed with books, great stacks of them collapsing haphazardly against each other like crumbling mountains in a literary landscape. A tiny bed was tucked in between them, a shepherd’s hut among the paper alps.

“Keys – keys –” Merlin muttered to himself distractedly as he pushed aside great mounds of unwashed clothing, shifted aside his Dickens and his Calvino to check under the bed, patted frantically at the pockets of his brown jacket.

“Looking for these?” Gaius said from the doorway, dangling a set of keys in his wrinkled fingers and wearing a smug look. His expression quickly changed to concern, however, when Merlin snatched the keys with a grateful grin and made to leave.

“Merlin, where do you think you’re going at this time of –”

“It’s happened, Gaius. Pendragon called, he wants me to go pick up Arthur, take him somewhere safe.” Gaius sighed as Merlin pushed past him through the doorway, making for the hall.

“Merlin, I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t get involved with that boy. It can’t come to any good. However much you like him –”

“No, Gaius,” interrupted Merlin. “I don’t like him. I don’t even know him, and I think he was arrogant and stupid to come here and interfere like he did, but I’ve got to get him out. I can’t let someone else… I can’t let…” he sucked in a deep breath, closing his eyes. For a moment he rested his weight on the door through to the hall, and leaned into Gaius’ hand when the old man rested it gently on his shoulder. “They’ve killed enough people,” he said softly, after a few seconds. “And if I can stop another one from happening, I will.”

“But by putting yourself in the line of fire?” Gaius followed Merlin to the front door, his voice cracking with concern. “The fact that you’re a part of the family won’t grant you any immunity, once you’ve chosen to side with a marked man.”

Merlin ignored him, finished pulling his red scarf around his neck: the Sicilian night was mild, but it was best to be on the safe side. Who knew how far this journey might take him? Up to Toscana or, heaven forbid, the frozen wastes of Lombardia.

“Merlin,” Gaius said, pleading now, “you know these people. They’re your family. They don’t stop at anything to get what they want.”

Merlin turned to face him with a roguish grin.

“I guess that’s one thing I did inherit, then,” he said, pulling Gaius into a hug. “Arrivederci, amico mio.”

He walked out of the door before common sense or logic or Gaius’ distraught face could convince him to do otherwise. He checked his watch in the dim light as he ran down the stairs of his building.

Four minutes.

*

Twenty seconds after the ten minutes was up, Arthur heard the guttural hum of an old car pulling up outside his door. He pressed his back flat to the door for a moment, closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steady himself.

“Three… two… one…” he counted, then in one smooth movement he stood, flung the door open and stepped outside into the night. His head spun, and great folds of black threatened to envelop his vision; his knees buckled and he staggered forward, falling over the hood of the wheezing, rusty car which had pulled up outside his house. He heard the sound of a window being rolled down.

“You missed the door,” said a voice, low and laughing. Arthur twisted his head to glare at the driver, registering dark hair and a suppressed grin. “You want some help?”

“No,” Arthur ground out, using the wing-mirror to haul himself closer to the passenger door. The driver leaned over and pushed the door open, slamming the edge right into Arthur’s face. He crumpled wordlessly to the floor.

“Oh, no – sorry, I’ll just, let me –” he broke off as he glanced in the rear-view mirror and caught sight of a lone figure moving slowly towards them down the narrow street. Silhouetted against the figure’s hip, clutched in one hand, was the unmistakeable shape of a gun.

“No – no – Arthur, get in the car, get in the – oh, my god,” the driver sputtered incoherently and with increasing horror, climbing over the gearstick and scrambling out of the car, all ungainly limbs and panicked expletives. “Come on – come _on –_ ” he hefted under Arthur’s arms, shoved his torso roughly into the passenger seat. Fifty paces behind him, the figure stopped moving, cocked its head. He frantically stuffed Arthur’s bare feet into the car, clambering over him as the figure raised the gun and took a moment to aim. His hands were on the steering wheel, feet pushing into Arthur’s stomach as he scooted back into his own seat… the first shot rang out. The passenger door was still open, and a smoking hole appeared in the centre of it.

“No – oh, god, _[cazzo, muovati, non posso – oh, dio](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1107367/chapters/2228313/)_ –” He sank into his seat, finally, and revved the car furiously. The second shot came: he heard it glance off the roof. Pedal to the metal but they weren’t going anywhere, why weren’t they moving? He looked around frantically in his mirrors to see if someone was holding the car, was that even possible, but how else could –

“Take the brakes off and get us out of here!” Arthur bellowed as the third shot was fired, smashing the wing-mirror on the passenger side.

Brakes. _Right_. He released the hand brake, revved the car too hard. They shot forwards, nearly stalled; the car swung wildly round the corner, missing the house at the end by inches. Arthur yelled and grabbed hold of his arm as he nearly got tossed out of his open door.

One minute and thirty seconds later, they pulled over, breathing hard. Arthur looked over at his driver; he was wide-eyed and white with fear, but glanced over to meet Arthur’s eyes with a shaky smile.

“Well, I think that went pretty smoothly,” he said, barely a hitch in his voice. His hand, when he laid it on Arthur’s shoulder, was steady. Arthur was impressed, despite himself.

“I think it would have been a little smoother if you hadn’t hit me with the door,” he responded, hearing the flat terror behind his attempt at a light tone. He wondered if his driver could hear it too; the thought made him irrationally angry. Better angry than scared out of my wits, he thought weakly, and held on to the feeling.

“Yeah, sorry about that, [_amico_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1107367/chapters/2228313/). I’m Merlin,” the guy said, moving his hand from Arthur’s shoulder and holding it out to shake. Arthur met his gaze again, found disdain the easiest reaction, and haughtily turned away; he caught sight of Merlin’s expression in the corner of his eye, and his heart sank.

“Just get me out of here,” Arthur snapped. “And by the way, until you prove yourself more competent, you have no right to call me _amico_.” He deliberately mispronounced the Italian, stretching out the vowels, and was rewarded by a further twitch of annoyance on Merlin’s face.

“Of course, your Majesty,” Merlin replied sarcastically, shoving the car roughly into gear and pulling away. “It would be my absolute pleasure.”

Arthur snorted and turned to look out of his open window at the tall buildings pressing in on either side, and then up to look at the night sky.

 

Two hours later, Arthur huffed and turned to face Merlin. He’d never lost a battle of wills in his life, but the silence had become unbearable, so he resolved to break it. Merlin probably hadn’t even thought of the long period of quiet as a contest.

“Have you lived in Palermo long?” he asked. Merlin glanced at him with a grin, victory in his eyes. Arthur grimaced internally. This man was intolerable.

“About seven years,” was the reply. “I grew up in England, but came out here when – when my parents died.”

Arthur glanced quickly at Merlin.

“My mother died when I was young,” he offered. Merlin’s mouth twisted up at one corner; he nodded, meeting Arthur’s eyes. They let the subject drop.

“What’s it been like, living in Palermo for so long?” Arthur asked after a moment. Merlin kept his eyes on the road, but pulled a quizzical expression. “I was only there for a holiday, and I couldn’t deal with it. You know, how can you live with – with –”

“La Cosa Nostra,” Merlin said heavily, seeming to realise what Arthur was driving at.

“The Mafia,” Arthur confirmed. “Isn’t it hard, to watch them controlling the city?”

“Of course,” Merlin replied. “I hate the Family. I hate the bosses.”

“You’ve met them?”

“No,” Merlin said, a little too quickly. “Of course not. Just… I hate what they’re doing. Grooming the kids, scaring people. It’s not all bad, of course –”

“Not all bad? They kill people! They all deserve to be locked up, or worse,” Arthur said firmly.

“It’s not all bad,” Merlin repeated, with more certainty. “Not all of the Family are bad people.”

“They’re all guilty. Even if they’ve never killed anyone themselves, everyone in the Family is complicit to the crimes. They’re all despicable.”

“They protect each other, and the people. They govern the city.”

“You have a government for that,” Arthur pointed out.

“A government from the North. What would they know? They try to bring in measures that would break Sicily’s system. They have no idea how it works, how it has always worked.”

“Maybe how it works is wrong. Look at how many people are getting hurt –”

“The only ones who get hurt are the ones who are too stupid to leave the Family alone,” Merlin said, a strange bitterness in his tone.

“Is that supposed to be a dig at me?” Arthur demanded indignantly. “I was just trying to help! I was helping to take the children off the street and educate them, get them playing sports instead of torturing the local feline population – and preparing for a future doing the same thing to human beings!”

Merlin smacked his hand against the steering wheel.

“You understand nothing! You’re an outsider, you’ll never understand.”

“I understand enough,” Arthur snarled. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were on their side.”

Merlin seemed to shrink, his anger falling away.

“Of course I’m not,” he said quietly. “Like I said, I hate the bosses, I hate what they do to the kids. I respect what you were trying to do. But I think you were stupid to try. You put yourself in danger. You should have just had your nice holiday, and gone home.”

Arthur sighed heavily.

“You sound just like my father,” he said. Merlin’s lips thinned, and he didn’t reply. Arthur turned his face back to the window, watched the dark shadows of the trees moving past. He felt sick, and his head felt like metal bands were tightening around it. He closed his eyes. His last thought before he fell asleep was that he had to ditch Merlin as soon as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- "shit, move, I can't - oh, god -"
> 
> \- "friend"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the translation of the Italian phrases, either hover over the phrase or read the notes at the end. Thank you and enjoy reading!

Arthur woke with something heavy and disgusting in his mouth. He scrunched up his face and spat, only to realise that it was his tongue. His hair was wet where it rested against the window, the condensation running down his cheek. Groggily, he opened his eyes.

The car was parked at the side of a wide, empty road. It was still early in the day, judging by the fresh quality to the sunlight pouring through the window and the crisp bite of cold in the air. Arthur shivered, turned to look for Merlin. He grimaced as his right temple throbbed and his neck muscles protested.

“… [_no, non è cosi… ascoltami, ascolta, ho bisogno del tuo aiuto. Dimmi, sanno dove siamo_](../) _?_ ” Merlin was speaking fast, staccato Italian into a payphone. He’d left the driver’s side door swinging open. He had his back to the car; as Arthur watched, he rubbed the back of his neck distractedly with one hand. “[ _OK, capisco. Non preoccuparti, lo lasciarò qui. Ti prego, non dire niente a nessuno_](../).” Merlin turned, saw Arthur’s glazed eyes resting on him. “[ _Devo partire, si è svegliato. Ciao, amico_](../).”

He walked back over to the car.

“Who was that?” Arthur demanded, the words coming out thick and slow. Merlin frowned.

“My friend, Lancelot,” he replied. “He lives in Palermo, I didn’t want him to worry about me.”

“You speak good Italian.” Merlin glanced quickly up at Arthur, but the statement seemed to carry no undercurrent.

“Yes, well, that’s why your father picked me to be your rescuer, I suppose. I’m bilingual,” he said. “Gaius – my guardian – is an old friend of Mr Pendragon’s, and mentioned me to him. He said you were making some bad decisions, asked me if I would be on stand-by to help if anything were to happen to you.”

“You’re _not_.” Merlin cocked his head, confused by the apparent non-sequitur.

“Not what?”

“Not my rescuer. I could’ve… got out… on my own…” Arthur’s eyes lost their focus for a second. Merlin leaned closer, putting a hand against Arthur’s cheek, his expression one of reluctant concern. Arthur growled and pulled away. “Don’t touch me, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine. You look awful,” Merlin said with some asperity. “You’re covered in blood, for one thing.”

Arthur scowled. That would explain the strange, encrusted feeling he had all down the right side of his face.

“It doesn’t matter. Just drop me off at a hotel somewhere, my father will pay. You can leave me here.” Even as he said it, Arthur felt a twinge of fear in his gut at being alone again. He repressed it. “I will be fine.”

Merlin hesitated for a long moment, watching him. Arthur watched the indecision harden into determination in his blue eyes.

“No,” Merlin said. “I’m taking you to the hospital first. Then we’ll see about a hotel.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m fine,” Arthur insisted. “I don’t need your help. I’m _fine_.”

 

“Concussion,” Merlin said, flopping down into the ratty old chair beside Arthur’s bed. The stark hospital lighting brought out the shadows under his cheekbones, made his hair look blacker than a raven’s wing. Arthur caught himself staring.

“What?”

“Mild concussion, that’s all. They said the bullet grazed your temple, and then I must have hit you in roughly the same place with the, um, the car door. They said that you’re through the worst of it, but you need to take these for a week or so.” He rattled a box of pills. “And the dressing can come off in two days or so, it’s just in case.”

Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Can we just leave? I’m sick of this, we’ve been here for hours. I need to get home. Are there flights out of… wherever we are?”

Merlin smirked and swung his booted feet up on to Arthur’s crisp white bedsheets.

“Napoli – Naples. There are flights, yeah. I’ll get you to a hotel, you can call your father, get it all sorted. Just need to get you dressed again.”

Arthur grimaced as he threw off the covers and began to get up, shoving Merlin’s feet off the bed. “I can’t believe they made me get into one of these stupid hospital gowns for a mild concussion. Don’t they need the bed for someone who’s actually ill? I’m absolutely _fine_ and –” his knees buckled as he put all his weight on them. He toppled backwards, landing heavily and ungracefully on the floor between Merlin’s knees.

“[ _Cazzo_](../)! Take it slowly, would you?”

“S – sorry,” Arthur said, feeling the room spinning around him. He looked up behind him and focused on Merlin’s face. His eyes really were very blue.

“Not that this isn’t delightful,” Merlin said after a few seconds, “but do you think you could try standing up again?”

“What – oh, yes. I was just about to do that,” Arthur said haughtily, placing his feet squarely on the floor and pushing off Merlin’s legs. He felt Merlin’s hands on his hips, steadying him, and resisted the strange, sudden urge to lean back into the touch.

“I can manage,” he snapped, more angrily than he’d meant to, and walked unsteadily over to where his clothes were piled on the window ledge. He picked up his jeans, swaying slightly. He felt rather than heard Merlin come up behind him, and shivered at the light touch of warm fingers at the back of his neck.

“What do you think you’re – oh,” Arthur said, as the gown fell away and he was left standing in his underwear. He glanced behind him. For once, Merlin wasn’t wearing that stupid smile.

“Let me help,” he said, and Arthur wondered if he was imagining the roughness in Merlin’s voice. Surely he was.

“I can do it –” he began, but Merlin huffed and snatched the jeans out of his hands. Bending down to squat behind him, Merlin lifted first Arthur’s left foot and then the right through the holes. He stood, dragging the jeans up Arthur’s legs, over the curve of his ass, settling them on his hips with a soft pat on either side.

“Can you do them up yourself?” he asked, a smile in his voice. Arthur, flushed and confused, didn’t turn round to nod. “T-shirt, please.”

Arthur zipped up his jeans and bent to pick up his t-shirt, sensing Merlin’s gaze on his bare back and rolling his shoulders as he straightened. Merlin reached around from behind him, pushing his hands through the arm-holes and rolling the thin white fabric up to his elbows.

“Arms up,” he commanded softly, and Arthur could feel his warm breath on the back of his neck. He obeyed, and Merlin tugged the t-shirt over his head and down his body. Arthur lowered his arms slowly and turned around, blinking when Merlin took two steps back. He looked composed, but his eyes were brighter than Arthur had seen them so far.

“Come on, then,” Merlin said. His hand twitched and for a moment Arthur thought he was going to hold it out for him to hold. He tried to ignore the slight sink of disappointment when Merlin turned away.

“I don’t have any shoes,” Arthur said, sounding forlorn. Merlin glanced back over his shoulder at Arthur’s feet.

“No, I noticed that,” he said. “Did you not think you’d need them?”

“There wasn’t time,” Arthur replied, feeling indignant. “Since I’d just been _shot_ at – actually,” he lifted a hand to the dressing around his head, “make that just _shot_ – I thought the priority was getting out alive, shoes or no shoes.”

“Very wise,” Merlin said, grinning as he stuffed Arthur’s pills into a large backpack and swung it over his shoulder. “We’ll get you some later. That is, _you_ ’ll get you some later, after I drop you off at the hotel.”

“Sounds good,” Arthur said, thinking of room service and soft bed sheets and curling up to watch a movie. He followed Merlin out of the hospital room, bare feet making tiny kissing noises against the cold linoleum floor.

*

Half an hour later, Merlin was holding open the car door for Arthur to get out, and attempting to ignore a slight fluttering feeling in his stomach when Arthur wobbled and gripped onto his arm tightly for support.

“Take it easy,” he said, earning himself a heated look. He turned his face away to hide his grin.

 “I can manage,” Arthur said gruffly, and Merlin rolled his eyes. He stayed close to Arthur as they entered the spacious lobby of the hotel, watching his bare toes curling into the soft carpet.

Merlin knew that Arthur was arrogant, foolish, stubborn. He had thrown himself in harm’s way unnecessarily, not stopping to think about the effect that might have on the people who cared about him. He was rude and stuck-up. He definitely wasn’t _cute_.

“Buongiorno, signori,” said the young receptionist at the desk. Arthur placed his hands on the mahogany counter, then turned to look at Merlin.

“How do you say, ‘room’?” he asked, running a hand through his hair and making it stick out in all directions. Merlin resisted the urge to pat it back into place, or even push his own hand through it, muss it further until – “Merlin?”

“Um. Yes, sorry.” Merlin turned to the receptionist, who was looking at him with a worryingly knowing smile on her face. Had he been that obvious? “[ _Una camera sola_](../),” he said.

“[ _Per due_](../)?”

“[ _Per uno_](../).”

The girl looked surprised, but nodded. She scribbled into a notebook, then handed Merlin a silver key.

“[ _Numero dodici_](../),” she said. “[ _La cena è alle otto_](../).”

“[ _Grazie_](../),” Merlin said. Arthur nodded curtly, and took the key out of Merlin’s hand.

“I’ll walk you up to your room,” Merlin said quickly before Arthur could insist otherwise. He just wanted to make sure Arthur was safe and comfortable in his room before he left to go back to Palermo, right? That was perfectly natural. To his surprise, Arthur didn’t object. They entered the lift together. Merlin felt an electric buzz when the distance between them diminished to almost nothing; he was also suddenly and intensely aware of his own arms, and how awkwardly they hung at his sides. His heart flipped as Arthur reached for the button at the same time as he did and their hands grazed.

Arthur dropped his hand quickly and stared straight ahead; Merlin pressed the button for the third floor. The receptionist gave him a wink as the doors slid closed, which he did not return.

The walls of the elevator were mirrored, so Merlin could see Arthur in the reflection even though he had turned his face away. He allowed himself a moment to stare, just a moment. His eyes lingered on Arthur’s strong neck, on his soft, messy hair, on his wide, full lips…

Thank God he was going home soon. He would put this behind him. If Gaius thought that helping Arthur to escape was dangerous, he’d pitch a fit if he knew that Merlin was starting to… crush on him, he supposed he would call it. It was just a tiny crush, though. The tiniest. It would be easy to forget all about it, once he was back in Palermo.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Arthur gestured with a stiff hand for Merlin to exit first, still not meeting Merlin’s eye. They walked together along the corridor, afternoon sunlight streaming in from a window at the far end and lending a soft, syrupy glow to the scene. Merlin stopped at number twelve.

“This is you,” he said, trying to put a smile on his face.

“OK,” Arthur said, moving around to unlock the door and push it open. The room beyond looked nice enough, from what Merlin could see. Light and airy, decorated in cream and blue.

“You’ll be comfortable here?”

Arthur looked confused.

“You’re very solicitous, all of a sudden,” he said. Merlin was about to brush off the accusation when he caught Arthur’s eye and realised that he was being teased.

“Well, I expect you’re not such a grump when you’re comfortable,” he retorted, feeling a real grin slot onto his features. Arthur laughed, shook his head in a kind of disbelief.

“You’re so rude.”

“You’re in denial.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“But you love it,” Merlin said, with a wink. Damn it, what was he doing? Was he flirting? Arthur was blushing and Merlin liked that, liked that he had put those pink spots on Arthur’s cheeks. He felt that flip in his chest again. He had to get out of here before he did something stupid, something that would land him in real trouble when he got back home.

Home. Back to Palermo, back to the Family – of which he was a member, however distant and reluctant. Merlin cleared his throat, shook off his smile.

“So, I suppose this is goodbye,” he said. Arthur seemed taken aback by the coldness in his voice. “It was – nice, to meet you,” he added, cursing the inadequacy of the word. It hadn’t been nice. It had been annoying and ridiculous and – something else, something Merlin didn’t have a word for.

Arthur had spent most of the time sleeping, for god’s sake. He needed to pull himself together. This was a casual goodbye, an easy farewell.

“Yeah,” Arthur said uncertainly. “Nice to meet you, as well. Maybe if you ever come back to England, we could meet up, get a drink.”

“Sounds good,” said Merlin, hating that they were doing this. Politely offering a drink, politely accepting, politely knowing that they wouldn’t see each other again. He wanted Arthur to demand that he stayed, he wanted to refuse to leave, he wanted rude or angry or outrageous, but not polite.

But that was no matter. It was time to go home, to forget about this. To forget about Arthur. He’d only known the guy for a day, it would be easy enough.

But he couldn’t help feeling that this was – unfinished, somehow. As though the two of them had more to do.

“Goodbye, then,” he said, meeting Arthur’s eyes. He saw his own slight desperation reflected back at him, and wavered for an impossibly long second before reaching out and touching one single finger to Arthur’s cheek. He expected Arthur to jerk away, as he had done in the car, but he did not. Instead, his eyes widened and his mouth opened. Merlin knew that, given a few seconds, Arthur would ask him to stay. He knew that he would not be able to refuse. He knew that by doing that, he’d be throwing himself into danger, just like he’d criticised Arthur for doing barely twelve hours ago. He’d be putting Gaius and Lancelot in danger too, just like he had with –

Merlin flinched away from his own thoughts, pulled his hand away from Arthur’s face. He turned on his heel and walked away, breath shuddering and heart pounding.

*

Arthur pushed the door closed as Merlin walked away, feeling a strange hollowness in his chest that he tried to ignore. He strode across the room and picked up the phone, twirling the cord nervously between his fingers as he dialled his father’s work number. He closed his eyes, and Merlin’s expression swam before him again – that lost, longing look he’d had right before he turned away. He felt again the warm brush of Merlin’s fingertip, raised his own hand to touch the place on his cheek where it had rested.

“Uther Pendragon.” Arthur’s eyes snapped open.

“Father, it’s me. It’s Arthur.”

“Are you out of Palermo? Are you safe?” Uther demanded. Arthur wondered if it was concern that made the questions so rapid, or if his father were merely in the middle of a meeting.

“Yes, I’m in Naples. Hotel Palazzo Decumani. If you could get me a flight back to England –”

“I’ll have the ticket booked immediately. Do you have money?”

“No,” Arthur said, patting down his jeans out of habit even though he knew his wallet was still in his apartment in Palermo. “I’ve got nothing.”

“I’ll ring our nearest Naples branch, get someone round to deliver you a credit card.”

“Can you do that?”

“Arthur, I am the senior executive of this bank,” Uther snapped. “I do have some influence. I’ll have a car outside your hotel tomorrow morning with the money and your plane ticket. See you at Gatwick.”

Arthur hung up the phone when he was sure his father had gone. He spread himself out on the bed, feeling wrung out and lonely. He closed his eyes, and dreamed of dark hair and blue eyes and infuriating, maddening smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- "...no, it's not like that... listen to me, listen, I need your help. Tell me, do they know where we are?"
> 
> \- "OK, I understand. Don't worry, I'll leave him here. I'm begging you, don't tell anyone."
> 
> \- "I have to go, he's awake. Bye, mate."
> 
> \- "Shit!"
> 
> \- "Just one room,"
> 
> \- "For two?"
> 
> \- "For one"
> 
> \- "Number twelve,"
> 
> \- "Dinner is at eight."
> 
> \- "Thanks"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the translation of the Italian phrases, either hover over the phrase or read the notes at the end. Thank you and enjoy reading!

“Are you sure?” Merlin gabbled into the phone in Italian. He was only a couple of hours outside Naples, having stopped to eat after realising that the pain in his gut might have something to with hunger as well as his reluctant farewell. “Lancelot, are you absolutely sure?”

“Mate, it’s definite. I heard it from Morgause herself. She knows what you’ve done, she knows where you are, she knows everything. She’s sending people to the airport to wait for Arthur.”

“Shit.” Merlin ran a hand through his hair, shutting out the image of Arthur doing the same in the hotel lobby. “Why does she care about him so much?”

“She doesn’t, obviously. She cares about you. She cares about making an example of the people who defy her. Merlin,” Lancelot’s voice was tinny and surreal down the line, “she wants to kill Arthur in front of you, and then kill you too.”

“This is unreal. Neither of us has done anything wrong! Surely if I just talk to her, I mean, I am part of the family…”

“Gaius told you, Merlin, and so did I. Once you go against the family, you’re toast. Everybody knows that. Why did you do it, man?”

“Because, Lance. My cousin. F-Freya.” Merlin felt the familiar ice-cold grip over his heart as he said her name.

“Merlin…” Lancelot’s voice was full of sympathy. “That was years ago, man. You were seventeen, you weren’t to blame.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Merlin said tersely, not trusting his voice to remain steady enough to say more on the subject. “I’m going back to the hotel and I’m going to drive Arthur somewhere safe. Once we leave the country, we should be fine.”

“Are you nuts? You can’t travel together. You should head south or east, maybe Albania, maybe Greece. He should head north, back to England. You’ll both be safer.”

“I can protect him better if I’m at his side,” Merlin replied firmly. “I’ll call you every night, you’ll tell me what you know. If they’re on to us, we can change our plans. But if he’s on his own, they’ll catch him.”

“You’re really just going to throw yourself into danger for this Pendragon guy? I don’t get why you care so much, Merlin. It’s not like anyone else does. He’s a nobody. Even his father can’t be bothered to do more for him than hire a twenty-two year old idiot to get him out of Palermo when he could afford an army of bodyguards.”

“I’m a very competent idiot. Look, Lance, I know it’s mad. But Arthur’s – he’s – arrogant, yeah, but he’s alright.”

Merlin heard Lancelot sigh down the phone.

“I know you’re going to this no matter what I say.”

Merlin grinned.

“Yeah. Hey Lancelot, try not to get caught, OK?”

“Thanks, Merlin. Oh, and one more thing. Morgause hasn’t sent just anyone to catch you. She’s sent Nimueh.”

*

When the frantic knocking on his door began at four in the morning, Arthur thought that he was dreaming. When he flung open the door and saw a wild-eyed, messy-haired Merlin standing in front of him, he only became more convinced.

“I’m dreaming,” he said. Merlin cocked his head, his features softening into a smile.

“Is this the kind of dream you like?” he asked, eyes glittering in the half-light from the hallway. Arthur passed a hand over his eyes, shook the sleep away.

“What time is it?” he demanded.

“Just past four. Arthur, we have to go.”  
“What? What are you even doing here? You should be halfway back to Palermo by now. And I can get a taxi to the airport.”

“No, Arthur, you can’t get that flight. You need to come with me.” Arthur stared into Merlin’s eyes, searching for a hint of levity and finding only inexplicable determination.

“Why shouldn’t I get that flight?”

“They’re waiting for you at the airport.”

“What? How the hell would you even know that?”

There it was, the inevitable question: how did he know? Merlin gritted his teeth. It would be so easy to say that he was part of the Family, that Lancelot was too, that he was getting his information from the inside. He stared at Arthur’s uncomprehending expression, mind racing. Arthur would never trust him if he found out that he, Merlin, was part of the Family. He’d throw Merlin out, go to the airport anyway and get himself killed. He didn’t want to lie, but if it meant that he could stay with Arthur, and have a chance at getting him back to England safely… well, that was worth it, right? He could deal with a few crises of conscience as long as Arthur was alive. He nodded to himself, steeled his resolve.

“I – my… friend, he overheard someone say that a well-known member of the Family is in Naples, and that they were waiting at the airport for someone. He told me when I called him a couple of hours ago.”

Merlin watched Arthur accept the story with a sigh of relief, and a small sick clench in his gut. Lying had never come easily to him.

“Look… it’s very good of you to come back and tell me, Merlin,” Arthur said, with a half-smile and a hint of warmth in his eyes. “But I doubt it has anything to do with me. I’m nobody, just a guy who got a bit too involved with educating the local kids, no one’s going to chase me halfway up the country over that. I’m going to fly home tomorrow and that’ll be the end of it, OK?”

“Arthur –”

“I’m not going to change my mind,” Arthur said, the steeliness that Merlin was starting to recognise sharpening his tone. Merlin opened his mouth to say more, but closed it again as Arthur’s expression darkened further. “Do you have somewhere to stay?” he demanded. Merlin shook his head mutely. Arthur threw the door open wider, exposing his naked torso. He wandered back to the bed, and chucked a pillow at Merlin. “You can sleep on the sofa,” he said curtly.

Merlin stood still for a moment, clutching the pillow and playing with the label agitatedly before moving to the sofa and collapsing on it with a loud, angry sigh. He’d tackle Arthur about it again in the morning. There was no way he could let him go to the airport, let Nimueh take him.

“Goodnight,” Arthur said. Merlin sniffed, rolled over and didn’t reply.

*

Arthur woke early as always, despite his interrupted sleep. He rolled out of bed and started pulling his clothes back on, eyes on the sleeping figure on the sofa. Merlin slept with a strange grace, one long leg thrown over the back of the sofa and the other bent up at the knee. His face was smooth, his breathing deep and regular. His hair was mussed and he had one arm reaching out towards the bed, palm uppermost, wrist exposed.

Arthur bent down, quickly and assuredly, and folded the arm back in to Merlin’s chest. He lingered for a moment, watching silently, and then touching one finger to the side of Merlin’s face. His skin felt warm and smooth. Merlin stirred slightly, muttered one word.

Without speaking, Arthur left the room. He remembered to breathe when he reached the elevator.

*

Merlin awoke half an hour later, feeling the ghost of a touch on his cheek. He frowned and sat up. The bed was empty.

“Arthur?” Merlin felt his throat constrict. “Arthur, where are you?”

He stared at the place where Arthur’s clothes had been lying the night before, at the foot of the bed. Feeling sick, he staggered to the bathroom, but it was empty too. Desperate, he flung open the door and ran down the corridor. Ignoring the elevator, he took the stairs at a mad dash.

“[ _Dov’ è il mio amico? Quando è partito?_](../)” he gasped at the receptionist, the same girl from the night before. She looked amused to see him, but sobered at his frantic expression.

“[ _Lui è partito mezz’ora fa,_](../)” she said. “[ _Ha preso un taxi. Posso chiamarne uno per Lei se vuole...?_](../)”

“No, no,” Merlin mumbled, heading out of the hotel door in a daze. Arthur had gone to the airport half an hour ago. He didn’t stand a chance of catching him before he got there. He was probably already there, they probably already had him, but he had to try and do something. He couldn’t just leave.

Could he?

As he found his car and flung open the door, he realised that if Nimueh and Arthur were still there, as he hoped, then he himself would be in terrible danger. Nimueh was highly trained; unless he was fantastically lucky, she’d catch him as easily as a cat pouncing on a mouse. And then it would be back to Palermo. He wondered whether they’d use the same square as they had for Freya – whether he’d stare at the same fountain that she had before they pulled the trigger. He felt his resolve weakening. He didn’t want to kneel in that square, feeling the eyes of hidden watchers on him when he cried, as he surely would, as she had. He could leave, now, could run far away, and then it wouldn’t be him in that square, only Arthur.

Arthur. A new image in his fevered brain – Arthur kneeling in that square, innocent and afraid and _alone_ –

He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and started the ignition.

 

The ten minute drive to the airport became a three minute drive as Merlin hurtled around corners at impossible speeds, gesturing furiously at the cars in front of him and almost running over a tiny old lady with a shopping bag.

“Come on, _come on_ ,” he muttered to himself, finally swinging into the airport car park. He screeched to a stop outside the entrance to the terminal, ignoring the angry shouts of the drivers behind him as he threw open the car door and ran into Departures, eyes roving frantically over the crowds of vividly-clad tourists and sleek, suited businessmen. Seeing no sign of Arthur or, thankfully, Nimueh, he dashed up to the desk where a neatly-uniformed young woman was talking with a thickset older man in accented English.

“Excuse me,” Merlin interrupted, ignoring the growl of anger from the man beside him. “What gate does the flight to England leave from?”

“Five,” she told him with a hard glare, returning her attention to the disgruntled gentleman. Merlin nodded his head in brief thanks and apology, and ran. Signs flashed past him – gate three, four, _five_. He dived to the left, entering the flight lounge. He searched frantically for a glimpse of Arthur’s blonde hair, or his white t-shirt, and he listened for the sound of his voice –

 _There_. Moving stiffly down the aisles of seats, his face tense and blanched, eyes wide. And right behind him, walking unnaturally close and wearing a look that was equally smug and alert, Nimueh. She was as beautiful as he remembered, with full red lips and long, dark hair. The coat that she was wearing was several sizes too big, though, sleeves flapping loosely over her hands despite the fact that her arm was bent at the elbow, kind of as though she were pointing at Arthur’s back…

Of course. A gun. That was what had put the sheen on Arthur’s brow, the fear in his eyes. Merlin gritted his teeth. Would Nimueh really shoot either one of them here, in such a public place, so far from home? Perhaps, if she thought she could get away with it. And she probably could. No one here was giving her a second glance, no one would be able to pick her out of a line-up.

They were still twenty metres away when Arthur saw Merlin. His mouth opened in horror; Merlin raised a hand to silence him. He had seconds before Nimueh saw him too. What was his play? How could he get them both out of here safely? He had to get people to look at her, make it impossible for her to use that gun without being seen by everyone.

“Arthur!” he shouted, pasting a huge smile on his face. “Arthur, over here!”

“Merlin?” Arthur replied, looking bemused as Merlin strode forwards, not daring to look at Nimueh’s expression. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her glancing left and right, taking in the stares of the people on either side of them.

“It’s really me!” Merlin cried, breaking into a jog on the last few steps before throwing himself at Arthur, pulling him into a tight hug. “Can you believe it? It’s been too long!” His loud voice was continuing to attract interested looks and even a few smiles.

“It really has,” said Arthur with feeling, hugging Merlin closely and whispering, “she has a gun. In her sleeve.”

“I know,” Merlin breathed back, his mouth pressing against the dressing still wrapped around Arthur’s head. “Follow my lead, OK?” He felt Arthur’s chin dip onto his shoulder when he nodded.

“Won’t you come and have a coffee with me?” he asked, still in that ringing voice. “There’s still time before your flight leaves.”

“I’m afraid Arthur is feeling a little unwell,” a voice came from behind them, sharp and without a trace of amusement despite the smile pinned to its owner’s blood-red lips. “I was just taking him back to my car. If you want to come, you’d be more than welcome, Mr… Emrys, isn’t it?”

“That’s right,” Merlin said, feeling his mouth go dry. “I can – I can take him back to his hotel, it’s no bother…”

Nimueh offered him a pitying look.

“I don’t think so,” she said, her dark eyes filled with triumph. “Come with me. Now.”

Their casual audience had mostly lost interest. Merlin considered striking the gun out of Nimueh’s hand, or calling for security; as though she had seen the thought as it passed through his mind, Nimueh said in a low voice,

“I suggest you do as I say, Merlin. I would prefer not to shoot you here, but neither am I afraid to do so. You don’t think the Cosa Nostra are friendless here in Naples, do you? I could kill you both here and now, and have the police apologising for arresting me before dinner. Do _not_ push me.”

Merlin swallowed hard, and nodded once. Arthur saw him do so, and the hope in his eyes disappeared. Merlin crooked down the corners of his mouth in silent apology as they began to walk out of the lounge and back into the main hall. It had become, if anything, more crowded; people pressed in on all sides. Merlin heard Nimueh mutter a curse as someone pushed into her, knocking her off balance.

“If you even think of trying to disappear in this, Merlin Emrys, I will put a bullet through both of your brains. Just like I did to your little cousin.”

Merlin froze at the mention of Freya. The world seemed to slow down and sharpen in his rage; distantly, he felt the crush of people, heard the hiss of Nimueh’s voice, saw a man approaching who he recognised… the angry man from the desk. He was clutching a newspaper in a foreign language – maybe Russian – and a coffee in the other hand. He noticed Merlin and threw him a filthy look. In a split second, Merlin made his decision. He took a deep breath, thrust out his jaw pugnaciously and pushed into the man with all his weight.

Coffee spilled everywhere. Boiling hot liquid splattered over at least four people; they turned angrily as the Russian man began shouting at Merlin. It wasn’t enough, though, he thought frantically as Nimueh moved to intercede; he needed this to escalate faster. He offered up a silent prayer to any deity with their ears on, and punched the man in front of him, hard, in the stomach. He doubled over with a low roar, barrelling forward and crashing into Merlin’s midriff. They collapsed in a heap, taking several others with them to the floor, some of them drenched in hot coffee. Merlin lost sight of Nimueh as a furious Italian lady began pummelling the Russian with her tiny fists; he himself added to the confusion where he could, throwing punches and shouting. He crawled through the melee that he had created, finally finding Arthur buried under a trio of shrieking children.

“Come on, she’s lost us, we’ve got to go!” he whispered frantically, grabbing Arthur’s hand and pulling him to his feet.

“Where’s your car?” Arthur hissed back, crowding against Merlin’s back as they pushed their way through the tumult. Merlin didn’t stop to reply, but held onto Arthur’s hand and dragged him towards the door by which he’d come in. Not pausing to look back and check to see if Nimueh was watching, they piled out of the exit and into the car.

“You shouldn’t leave the car door just hanging open like that, it’s a wonder no one stole it!” Arthur berated him as he sat down.

“Yeah, well, I was a bit busy trying to save your life!” Merlin shot back, ramming the car into gear and accelerating fast; a taxi coming up behind them screeched to a halt with a piercing blare of its horn. Merlin barely noticed.

“Do you want to get us killed?!” Arthur demanded, hanging on to the handle over the passenger door.

“That’s what I’m trying to avoid, actually, and it would’ve been a lot easier if you’d listened to me last night and never gone to the airport at all!” Merlin yelled as they swung out onto the motorway, indicator lights flashing an apology to the cars behind them.

Arthur was silent for a moment. Merlin took several deep breaths, tried to still the shaking in his hands.

“…yes. About that. You… were right.” There was a long pause. “Sorry.”

“What was that?”

“I said, sorry.”

“What? Speak up.”

“I _said_ –” Arthur caught sight of Merlin’s wide grin out of the corner of his eye and hit him, hard, on the side of the head.

“Hey, I’m driving, you clotpole!”

“Well, you can’t exactly do much worse than you’re doing now, can you?” Arthur said, smiling widely and raising his eyebrows when Merlin turned to offer him a very fake scowl.

“You know, most people would be grateful when they’ve just had their life saved. But oh, no, his Majesty King Arthur wants a professional chauffeur on top of everything else.”

“Next time, I’ll get my father to pay extra, see if I can get a limousine instead of this rustbucket,” Arthur replied, smacking the dashboard with the flat of his hand and hearing a faintly menacing grumble.

“Oi, no insulting Kilgarrah,” Merlin said, patting the steering wheel fondly. Arthur shook his head disbelievingly.

“I’m not even going to ask,” he said. After a few seconds, he added, “I am, though.”

“You are?”

“Grateful.”

Merlin turned his head quickly; Arthur was looking straight ahead, his expression uncomfortable, shyly sincere. When Merlin said nothing for a few moments, he flicked his eyes sideways to meet Merlin’s; there was something in them, a kind of disbelieving, overwhelmed look that gave Merlin a falling feeling in his head and a tightness in his chest.

“You probably saved my life back there,” Arthur said.

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time,” Merlin said, with a nervous twitch at the side of his mouth.

“What?”

“I saved you the first time I met you, remember? There was that person, probably Nimueh, on her way to come and see you –” Merlin broke off quickly.

“Nimueh?” Arthur said, and Merlin felt a cold stone drop into his stomach. “Is that who we met back there?”

“Yep,” Merlin said casually. “Nasty piece of work.”

“Very true. How’d you know who she is, though? She seemed to know you, too. Knew your name.” Arthur said. There was no trace of suspicion in his tone, only curiosity. Merlin swallowed.

“I knew her, back in Palermo. She’s English, came over to Sicily a couple of years before me and – and my cousin. She earned herself a reputation as a very – _efficient_ member of the Family.”

Arthur nodded thoughtfully and didn’t press the topic, seeming to sense some of Merlin’s discomfort.

“As I remember,” he said after a moment, “you gave me concussion by hitting me with a car door that first time you _saved_ me. So I don’t think that counts.”

“It definitely counts. I came to get you, didn’t I? Picked you up when you were unconscious, dragged you inside the car. Drove you to safety.”

“Nearly killed me by throwing me out of the open door.”

“I was being shot at! It’s scary!”

“Like I don’t know that,” Arthur replied grimly.

Merlin paused.

“That’s why you called your father. Right?” he asked. Arthur nodded briefly.

“There I was on my terrace, just getting some air, next thing I know there’s three huge bangs and my head is killing me and the door to the terrace has three holes in it. I ran inside and telephoned Father straight away.”

“You must’ve been petrified,” Merlin said. Arthur frowned.

“No, I was fine. I was in shock from the wound, that’s all.”

“And you knew I was coming to get you,” said Merlin with a grin.

“Actually, I didn’t even know Father had anything in place for if something went wrong. You were a surprise.”

“A good one, though,” said Merlin.

“Yes,” said Arthur. “A good one.” After a pause, he added, “Not everyone would’ve come after me at the airport, Merlin. She was saying all this stuff… talking about how she’d take me back to Palermo, and shoot me in front of everyone so that they would all know what happens if you defy the Cosa Nostra. If you hadn’t turned up…” he tailed off.

“Well, you know. All in a day’s work,” Merlin said lightly. Arthur smiled down at his hands, clenched into fists in his lap. “We can put it behind us. We’re one step ahead of her now, hopefully she’ll assume we’re making for Rome and the airport there.”

“We’re not going to Rome?”

“Nope. Next stop, Florence.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- "Where's my friend? When did he leave?"
> 
> \- "He left half an hour ago"
> 
> \- "He took a taxi. I can call one for you if you want...?"


	4. Chapter 4

Eight hours later, and Arthur was staring with such complete attention at the menu in front of him that Merlin felt a small twinge of jealousy.

They were sitting outside a restaurant on the Piazza della Repubblica, in Florence. The street-sellers were hawking their wares, waving cheap paintings and fake Gucci handbags under the nose of every passer-by. The cool twilight air smelled of smoke and herbs; the city seemed quiet compared to the hustle and fervour of Naples.

“What are you thinking?” Merlin asked. They had eaten a couple of slices of pizza for lunch, bought from a tiny service station when Merlin had stopped for petrol, but now they were starving. Arthur looked thin, Merlin noticed suddenly. His cheeks were definitely hollower than they had been two days ago. “Let’s start with pasta for _primo piatto_ ,” he suggested, “and then beef for _secondo piatto_? And I know a good place for ice-cream, if we’re still hungry afterwards.”

Arthur smiled and nodded silently. He hadn’t been very talkative since they’d arrived in Florence, but he looked happy enough. Merlin ordered two plates of spaghetti alla carbonara and sat back to enjoy the view of the square.

“Sorry for stealing the best seat, by the way,” he said with a grin.

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked.

“You know, I get to look out over the piazza,” Merlin said, gesturing over Arthur’s shoulder.

“I think I have the better view,” Arthur replied, his mouth twisted up in a wry smile, a kiss of light from the candle reflected in his eyes as he watched Merlin.

Merlin stared at him with his mouth slightly open, feeling a blush creep up his cheeks.

“You – um – I – well,” he stammered, reaching for a smart reply and finding nothing.

“I think that’s the first time you’ve been completely speechless in my presence, Merlin,” Arthur said, allowing his slightly sardonic smile to relax. “I’ll have to compliment you more often.”

“Don’t strain yourself with the effort of being nice,” Merlin managed to reply.

Arthur cocked his head. “Somehow it’s no effort, for you,” he said, and Merlin was struck silent again. Arthur being arrogant, he could take; Arthur being stubborn, he’d come to expect; but Arthur being flirtatious and _smooth as fuck_ and sitting there with his hair still messy from the long car journey and his bandage sitting lopsidedly like a linen crown around his head, and shivering slightly in Merlin’s jumper and kicking at the table leg with his socked feet because he’d rejected all the shoe-shops they’d passed on the way… Merlin took a large gulp of wine, barely tasting the dry, fruity flavour before it hit his empty stomach.

“So, you’ve been here before?” Arthur asked, taking a delicate sip of his own wine without taking his eyes off Merlin.

“No, never. Oh, well, yes, the city, I have, but not here here. As in, the restaurant, I’ve never been here. But I’ve been, _here_.” He waved his arms around to indicate the square, the city as a whole. _Brilliant_ , _Merlin. Look at that face he’s making. He thinks you’re a total moron. He’s right._

“You’re lucky. I’ve never been here before.”

“Well, you know, we could come back one day. You could! You, could, come back? One day?” Merlin felt a kind of panic set in. Arthur’s blue eyes were intense, eyebrows raised, his full lips relaxed in a slightly wondering smile.

“Yes,” he said neutrally. “That would be nice. There’s lots of art here to see, right?”

“Right,” Merlin said, seizing the topic with a kind of desperate relief. “The Uffizi Gallery is only a few minutes’ walk away, off the Piazza della Signoria. There’s loads of interesting pieces in there, um. I especially liked the Botticelli ones, you know, there’s Primavera, that is, Spring, and The Birth of Venus…” he allowed himself to ramble on as the first plate of food arrived, Arthur nodding solemnly and watching him closely.

An hour and a half later, and despite his initial awkwardness, Merlin felt the conversation was going pretty well; perhaps it was just the effects of the wine he was drinking, but talking with Arthur seemed to become easier and easier. They laughed often; Merlin felt himself relaxing. By the time their second course was drawing to a close, they were deep in conversation about family.

“I don’t really get to see much of my family,” Merlin was saying. “Gaius is my only relation in Italy, and we’re only distantly related. I had a cousin here too, but she…” he tailed off, not wanting to talk about Freya. Thankfully, Arthur didn’t seem to notice.

“Do you miss your parents?” Arthur asked suddenly. Merlin prepared himself for the ice-cold twist of tension that always ached in his gut whenever Hunith and Balinor were mentioned, and sure enough it came, hard and debilitating as a physical blow. Still, better to talk about them than about Freya.

“Yes,” Merlin said briefly. “Do you? Miss your mother?”

“Every day,” Arthur replied. “It doesn’t – it doesn’t go away.” His voice had a certain childish puzzlement that somehow untwisted Merlin’s insides, unfurled thoughts that he’d been keeping carefully wrapped up.

“It’s the same for me. I think about them a lot. What they’d think about the stuff that I do, you know?”

“Yeah.” Arthur was watching him intently; his gaze gave Merlin the confidence to continue.

“I think, though, I reckon that maybe that’s not supposed to go away. It’s – it’s meant to stay with you. And that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Maybe it can help you, you know, make the right decision when you need it to. Give you strength. Or something.” He blushed, realising that he wasn’t making much sense. He felt stupid, like he’d given away too much, but Arthur was nodding and looking at him like he’d said something profound.

“I think so too,” he said.

A moment’s silence, and then –

“Anyone would think you were wise, Merlin, listening to that. If they didn’t know you at all otherwise, of course.”

“I’ll have you know that I am considered quite the sage amongst my friends.”

“I can’t believe that.”

“No, no, it’s true. I’m the wisest fool that ever lived,” Merlin said with a wry smirk. Arthur laughed.

“The smartest idiot,” he agreed.

“The cleverest clotpole.”

“I meant to ask you about that. Clotpole? Really?”

“It’s a real word!”

“Is that so? Define ‘clotpole’.”

“In two words?”

“Yes.”

“Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur balled up his napkin and threw it over the table at Merlin’s face. He ducked and it went flying over his head, hitting another diner on the back of the neck; she touched a hand to where it had struck her, looking up to the sky. Merlin and Arthur repressed their snorts of laughter as best they could, Merlin attempting to glower at Arthur for throwing it in the first place. Arthur lifted his hands up in mock innocence, grinning widely, blue eyes round and sparkling with mirth.

“You know, I don’t normally… I haven’t laughed as much as I do with you in ages,” Arthur said. Merlin winked.

“Fun all day long,” he said. “That’s the Emrys guarantee.”

“But what about at night?” Arthur asked, and then seemed to realise what he’d asked; he looked mildly horrified and opened his mouth to take back the question, but then closed it again quickly. He lifted his wine glass to his lips to cover his awkwardness. Merlin, meanwhile, narrowed his eyes with a sly smile and leaned in confidentially.

“Fun doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he said in a low voice. “I’m up for anything.”

“Is that… is that so?” Arthur asked, carefully replacing his wine on the table and obviously trying to keep his own voice steady, shifting slightly in his seat.

“Oh, yeah,” Merlin said, raising an eyebrow suggestively. “You name it, I’ll do it.”

“I – you’ll… um?” Arthur stuttered. His pupils had dilated, Merlin noticed with a spark of excitement.

“Yeah,” he said. “Anything. I’m talking pillow fights, midnight feasts… even blanket forts.”

Arthur’s slightly-open mouth snapped shut.

“ _Merlin_ ,” he said furiously, “you idiotic, moronic, irritating little…” Merlin, however, was too busy laughing to listen to him.

“You should’ve seen your face,” he said, with a huge smile creasing his features.

“It’s better than your face, at least,” Arthur shot back, his mouth twitching up at the corners but his eyes still resolutely narrowed in displeasure.

“I thought I was the best view in the restaurant?” Merlin asked, arching an inquisitive eyebrow.

“I take that back entirely, you – you _clotpole_.” Arthur shook his head at Merlin’s renewed chuckles. “You’re infuriating,” he said, tone poised on the brink between exasperation and affection.

“But you love it,” Merlin replied, with a cheeky smile. Arthur dipped his head, apparently caught between embarrassment and agreement. He sipped at the last of his wine, his fingers relaxed around the stem of the glass.

For a while they sat in comfortable silence. Merlin was looking up at the darkening sky, intensely aware of Arthur watching him when he moved a hand to push back his hair and rub his neck. He snapped his eyes to Arthur’s fast enough to catch him looking, earning himself a slight blush, but Arthur didn’t look away. In the cooling dusk, with candlelight sweeping under his cheekbones and a familiar dry expression on his face, Arthur was… magnificent, and Merlin was seized by a sudden, almost irrepressible desire to tell him so. Instead, he bit his lip and watched Arthur’s eyes track the movement. He felt the low hum of desire between them become stronger, suddenly intensely aware of how Arthur’s muscular arms filled the sleeves of his jacket and how much he wanted to touch the curve of his neck and the sharp line of his jaw… Arthur flicked out his tongue to wet his lips, and Merlin nearly groaned.

“I’ll pay the bill,” he said, standing up quickly and stretching the tension out of his shoulders.

He could feel Arthur’s eyes on him as he moved away, sending heat through him, making his hands tremble.

 

They walked home with a whisper of air between their hands, not speaking. The city was dark but still alive; to Merlin, everything had a dreamy, intense quality. The scent of basil and cigarette smoke was heady, making his head spin – or was that the wine, or the rush of air over his fingers as their hands came within millimetres of touching? A busker on a street corner was playing the violin with his eyes closed, his expression transcendent. The song was sweet and soulful; the notes threaded up and down the street like glowing gossamer strands, looping around any passerby and drawing them closer. Merlin didn’t even notice that he’d stopped walking until he felt a light touch on his shoulder; Merlin turned, but Arthur had his eyes fixed on the violinist with his lips parted in awe. Merlin stared, luxuriating in the symphony of sense: the fragile notes of the violin; the thrumming buzz of his own desire; the smooth, flowing lilt of Arthur’s gaze meeting his, and the percussive joy beating across his chest when cool fingers slipped between his own. Without a word, Arthur led him back to the hotel.

*

“Merlin –” Arthur began, when he was standing outside the doors to his room in the slightly dingy hotel that Merlin had found. It was the first word he’d spoken since leaving the restaurant, picking up on Merlin’s pensive mood, and feeling a need for silence himself. This thing that was growing between them – this warmth, this ache, this tension – it was young, fragile. Too easily spoiled or broken.

But now they were back at the hotel, and Merlin was turning away to go back to his room. Arthur felt surprised, a little disoriented; surely he hadn’t been the only one feeling this – this thing, this spark in his chest, this warm curl of arousal? No, it was impossible, and looking into Merlin’s eyes, he could see that Merlin felt it too. But the other man looked sad, somehow, too; a little lost. Arthur wanted to pull him close, smooth that frown away with his lips, hold him – hold him close – hold all of him, everything, and now –

But Merlin was taking a step back, and pushing a smile onto the side of his face that wasn’t turned away, hidden in shadow.

“Goodnight, Arthur,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“But –” Arthur began. Merlin stopped where he was standing, didn’t turn around, waited. Arthur stared at the hard lines of his back, saw how stiffly he was holding himself. “Nothing,” he said, trying to empty his voice of emotion. He saw Merlin’s shoulders relax a little – with relief, or disappointment? Arthur attempted not to care as he threw open the door to his own room rather harder than he’d meant to, and stumbled over to the bed. Perhaps he’d had a little more wine than he’d realised; he felt suddenly bruised all over, his brain fuzzy. He tried to empty his mind, since thinking felt like rubbing velvet the wrong way. He didn’t want to fall asleep. He didn’t want to face the nightmares that had been visiting him for the past couple of nights, and be ripped into consciousness in the morning covered in sweat and shaking. He didn’t want to be alone. He groaned, pressed his hands over his eyes.

He needed a shower.

Grabbing his towel, he went down the hall to the communal bathroom at the end, grimacing at the mould on the walls and the peeling wallpaper. He had been aware that places like this existed before coming here, but thanks to his father, he’d never been forced to stay in one.

He locked the door behind him and stripped quickly, turning on the shower and stepping under the jet of water before it was cool enough. He pressed his lips together, not complaining, taking the scalding punishment for as long as it lasted.

When the water had cooled a little, he started to wash himself. Methodically, he began with his feet and worked up.

Between his toes, and he was pushing away the thought of Merlin.

Up his calves, and that maddening smile was stuck at the front of his mind, as well as the glitter of those bright blue eyes and those soft curls of dark hair..

Behind his knees, and seeing again the moment when Merlin had revealed more of his dark, curling hair, trailing in a thin line down his tummy when he’d stretched, back at the restaurant.

Soaping his thighs, and imagining Merlin standing at the foot of his bed, stretching out his wiry, slender body, wearing a smile and running his long fingers through his hair, biting down on his bottom lip, his eyes closed.

Up to his cock, which was hard and flushed red, a single bead of pre-come at the tip.

Groaning, unable to stop himself, Arthur took himself in hand, rubbing up and back down once, tortuously slow, achingly good. Merlin taking off his t-shirt, revealing his pale chest, his lightly-toned stomach. Arthur closed his eyes, jacked himself twice more, thumbed the tip, smearing pre-come. Merlin unzipping his jeans, slowly, so slowly – Arthur’s hand started to fly faster up and down his cock; Merlin stepping out of the jeans, bending over, picking them up to show off his ass, and a low moan escaped Arthur’s parted lips. Merlin hooking his fingers under his boxers, drawing them lower, exposing the base of his half-hard cock. The hot water flowed over Arthur’s face as he leaned back, one hand pressing against the wall, the other jacking his own cock with fast, even strokes. Merlin’s boxers being pushed further down, completely revealing him, pale and hard and beautiful. Arthur’s eyes fluttered; it was so long since this had felt so good, had this ever felt so good? He felt pure pleasure uncurling low in his belly, warm and delicious; heard himself groan again, louder this time. Merlin putting one foot up on his bed, cupping his balls.

“Oh – god,” Arthur stuttered, his hand tight and strong around his cock, so good, it was so good –

Merlin trailing a hand down his neck, over one nipple and gasping – Arthur gasped – and pushing down through the soft curls of hair above his cock, his breathing rough, his brow creased.

“Merlin,” Arthur choked out, his eyes pressed tight shut, mouth open, shaping wordless noises as he felt the high, aching burn of pleasure coursing up his chest, over his shoulders, down his arms, through his hand and back to his cock.

Merlin jacking himself off, one hand rising to clench in his dark hair. Sweat running down the back of his neck as he brought himself close.

“Merlin, Merlin, Merlin,” Arthur murmured, like a litany, a prayer, a paean to the gorgeous golden orgasm building in him, like a pure light lancing from the base of his cock to the leaking tip, growing brighter and whiter and better –

Merlin looking up at the last moment before he came, meeting Arthur’s eyes –

“ _Merlin!_ ” Arthur cried, as he came over his hand, kept coming and kept coming as he carried on stroking along his length, feeling the orgasm spread through him like a radiance. He shuddered, whimpering, as the waves of ecstasy broke over him. His legs gave way, and he slid down the wall to sit, gasping, under the hot jet of water from the shower.

It could have been days later that he opened his eyes, felt the last vestiges of pleasure fade, like smoke curling away after a candle is snuffed. He finished washing himself in a daze, his skin tingling; he quickly soaped his hair where it wasn’t covered by the bandage and rinsed it, then turned off the shower. He retrieved his towel and wrapped it around his waist, picked up his discarded clothes, unlocked the bathroom door and threw it open.

Merlin. Standing beside the door, eyes wide, mouth open, clutching his towel tightly in clenched fists.

_Shit._

How long had he been there? How much had he heard? Arthur was pretty sure that he must’ve heard everything, if he’d been standing outside – the door was so thin – and he must be horrified, considering he’d just rejected Arthur not twenty minutes ago –

But then Merlin shifted his towel slightly, and Arthur caught sight of something that laid his worries to rest.

He didn’t know why Merlin was putting this off, making them wait when the attraction between them was so obvious. It was frustrating and incomprehensible. One thing he did know, however, was that he was going to make Merlin pay for it.

He leaned close, pressing his body – still gleaming wet from the shower – close to Merlin’s; he heard Merlin’s breath hitch, watched him clutch the towel tighter to cover himself. When he was right next to Merlin’s ear, Arthur murmured,

“Have a _great_ shower, Merlin,” and then walked back to his room with a wicked grin.


	5. Chapter 5

Merlin woke early, and dressed as quickly as he could. Even though they’d made excellent progress the day before, he still wanted to put as much space as possible between them and Nimueh. It was time to leave. Now he just had to go fetch Arthur, and –

Arthur. Just thinking about him brought Merlin’s brain stuttering to a halt.

His mind felt insane, on fire; he was ridiculous and tense and burning to act, and yet… and _yet_ , he was still a member of the Cosa Nostra – the organisation that Arthur hated most. And yet, he was lying to Arthur about that. And yet, any kind of relationship with Arthur was a madness, doomed to end in failure and pain for both of them.

And yet…

Merlin huffed and packed his few belongings into his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He pushed open the door to his room, making his way over to Arthur’s. He considered knocking; then he remembered the events of last night and simply pulled the door wide open.

 _Hoping to catch him again, see it this time as well as hear it?_ Merlin taunted himself mentally, shaking his head as he peered around the door.

But Arthur was lying peacefully on his bed, fully clothed and sound asleep. Merlin moved closer to the bed, a small smile curling up the corners of his mouth.

“Rise and shine!” he said cheerfully, shaking Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur muttered something incomprehensible and buried his face in his pillow. “Come on, Arthur, time to go.”

“No, it’s not. Come back in half an hour.”

“Oh,” said Merlin, raising an amused eyebrow, “well, if his Majesty King Arthur commands me to retreat, I must of course obey, for I am his loyal servant…”

“Shut up, Merlin.” Arthur sat up, clutching the side of his head, face scrunched in protest against the light pouring in through the half-open shutters. Merlin smiled in sympathy, reached over to adjust the bandage around his head.

“What – did you shower with this on?” Merlin demanded, feeling the stiffness of the material.

“Yes,” replied Arthur grumpily, not especially wanting to be reminded of last night’s shower.

“You’re definitely not supposed to do that.”

Arthur shrugged with as much attitude as he could muster.

“Seems alright to me,” he said, setting it straight.

“It comes off tonight anyway,” Merlin said, half to himself. “You’ve been taking those tablets, right?”

“Of course I have, Merlin,” Arthur said angrily, crossing his fingers under the pillow.

“Do you always get cross when you lie, or is it something special that you do just for me?” Merlin asked, cocking his head and putting on his cheekiest grin. Arthur looked at him for a long moment, then scowled.

“Help me up,” he said, stretching out a hand, which Merlin took. He pulled Arthur to his feet, a little more roughly than he needed to, determined to keep things light between them.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Where are we going? The airport?”

Merlin shook his head.

“I’m not sure it’s safe. I haven’t been able to call my friend Lancelot – just to see if he’s overheard anything else, you know, any rumours on the street,” he said, a little too fast. “Unless we know for certain that the airport is safe, I think we should just drive. It won’t take too long. Unless we make stops.”

Arthur nodded, a pensive look on his face. Merlin expected him to argue, but when Arthur did speak, he only said,

“You know, I’ve never been to Venice.”

Merlin repressed his delighted smile, instead putting a stern mock-frown on his face.

“That is an absolute travesty, Mr Pendragon,” he said severely.

“It is, isn’t it?”

“I think we’ll have to do something about that.”

“Actually, I insist that we do. Given that my father is paying you, I am technically the one in charge.”

“Of course you are,” Merlin said, grinning widely.

“Oh, and one more thing we definitely have to do. Straight away, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Buy me some shoes. My feet are freezing.”

*

Venice. The smell of the canals, the sound of the waves lapping at the buildings, the white-grey grandeur of the _chiese_ and the bustle of the ever-present tourists. Merlin watched Arthur taking it all in, eyes flicking everywhere to catch every detail.

They’d left the car at the Piazzale Roma, and were now wandering languidly across San Marco Square.

“It’s beautiful,” Arthur murmured as he turned to look at the gorgeous _basilica_ , with its golden mosaics and white marble curlicues which surrounded the arches that soared over the dark metal doors.

“Bellisimo,” Merlin agreed. “La Serenissima never disappoints.”

“La Serenissima?”

“It’s an old name for Venice. The Most Serene. Strange name for a city which has seen so much intrigue and bloodshed, but it works somehow, don’t you think?”

Arthur cocked a quizzical eyebrow as they made their way past the resplendent red _campanile_ , heading for the sea front.

“Like the sea. Wild, and rough, and secretive… Venice has treasures hidden in her darkest corners. Things she only reveals to a lucky few. She’s… capricious. But at a glance, she’s like the smooth, unbroken surface of a calm sea. Sophisticated, serene. La Serenissima.”

Arthur nodded, smiling with a touch of bemusement.

“You really like this city?”

Merlin smiled.

“I didn’t at first,” he said. “I saw only the tourists, and the confusion of streets, and the smell. But after a while… she creeps into your heart, she opens herself up to you and shows you her wonders. She lulls you to sleep with the swish and swell of her waves. She makes you love her.”

Arthur had turned fully to face him now, wearing an expression that Merlin couldn’t quite read. Was he surprised, perhaps, or impressed?

“You’re full of surprises, Merlin,” he said, somewhat cryptically.

“I do my best,” Merlin replied with a self-deprecating grin. “Come on, this bit is great, but there's much more.”

He tugged Arthur away from the view of the lagoon by his hand, leading him on. They visited the Doge’s Palace together, saw the magnificence of the inside of the _basilica_ , and then wandered the streets of the Cannaregio, lingered on the bridges. Arthur wanted to go to the Rialto, but Merlin refused.

“It’ll be packed,” he said resolutely. “We’ll go back at dawn, tomorrow. It’s best to go then, trust me.”

And Arthur did.

They wandered back to the San Marco Square, stopping for ice-cream down one of the small side-streets.

“Don’t just go for chocolate,” Merlin said, leaning his chin over Arthur’s shoulder to look at the names of the flavours. “There are so many good ice-creams here, you have to get at least one fruity one. How about _fragola_? Or _lampone_?”

“Isn’t it a bit cold for ice-cream, anyway?” Arthur said, pulling Merlin’s jacket closer around his shoulders. “It’s the middle of December.”

“You have to try this ice-cream,” Merlin replied firmly, rubbing his hands up and down Arthur’s arms a couple of times to chafe some warmth into them. “Come on, what’s it to be? Strawberry, raspberry, forest fruit? Lemon? Orange? Blackcurrant? Cherry?”

“Shut up, Merlin. _Cioccolato e fragola, per favore_ ,” he said to the woman behind the counter. She dimpled at his English accent and gave him an extra scoop of chocolate.

“ _Gelato gratuito_ ,” she said, “ _per gli innamorati._ ” Merlin blushed, and declined to translate, even when Arthur punched his shoulder with a grin. They moved away, Merlin feeling a warm glow in his chest that neither the cold day nor even the ice-cream could extinguish.

“I love this city,” Arthur said, stretching out his arms to touch the walls of the buildings on either side of the street. “It’s crazy. It’s beautiful.”

“I told you,” Merlin said, turning around to face him. “Let’s just admit now that I’m always right, shall we?”

Arthur dolloped a large blob of chocolate ice-cream onto his nose.

*

Their hotel in Venice was infinitely nicer than the one they’d stayed at in Florence; Arthur had insisted. The golden wallpaper in the bedroom was a kind of soft material, decorated beautifully with twisting flower stems and laurel leaves. The beds, two singles, were large four-posters with dusty red curtains.

“The colours of Venice,” Merlin remarked, as they stepped back into the room later that evening, their cheeks, ears and noses flushed red from the cold. They’d eaten dinner at a little pizzeria on the Campo Santa Margarita, and had succeeded in getting slightly tipsy and very full.

“I like them,” Arthur said. “If I could pick, like, a shield or something, like a, what’s it called?”

“Ensign?” Merlin suggested, tumbling ungracefully back onto his bed, one leg kicking up into the air. He held it up there, staring at the point of his shoe.

“Yeah, yeah, an ensign, it’d be red and gold.” Arthur sat down on his own bed, looking over at Merlin.

“I like… blue,” Merlin said thoughtfully. “Like your eyes.”

He felt rather than saw Arthur go still, and cursed his own runaway tongue.

“I like red better,” Arthur replied after a few seconds. “Like your ears.”

Merlin sat up quickly – too quickly, felt the room spin around him a little.

“Hey!” he said, grinning. “Do you have a problem with my ears?”

“Not at all. They’re wonderfully prominent.”

“All the better to hear your idiotic remarks with,” Merlin retorted, standing up. “Come here, I’ve just remembered that we’re supposed to take that dressing off today.”

“Good,” Arthur said, shifting to perch on the end of his bed, knees pressed tightly together, feet neatly parallel like a schoolboy’s. “It’s annoying.”

Merlin came closer.

“It matches you perfectly, then,” he said. “Maybe I should leave it on.”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Merlin smiled at the familiar response, and put one leg on either side of Arthur’s knees to get close enough to remove the dressing. Of course, he could have just stood to one side, and avoided straddling Arthur’s legs as though he were about to sit down and pull off his jacket and push him down onto the bed and kiss the life out of him –

Merlin took a deep breath, and reached around the back of Arthur’s head, searching for the start of the long strip of bandage. Arthur was looking up at him; a couple of times, unable to help himself, he met his eyes. It felt like setting his mind on fire and filling his lungs with water and plunging a dagger into his chest – so strong, so physical that he almost shied away. He gulped, began gently unwinding the material around Arthur’s head.

“Merlin,” Arthur said softly. “Merlin, what’s – what’s happening?”

“I’m taking off your bandage, dollophead,” Merlin said, but quietly, with affection.

“No. Not that. I want to know – I don’t, um, understand why we aren’t –”

“Arthur, I can’t explain it.” Merlin said, more abruptly than he’d intended.

“Don’t you… like me?” Arthur said, his tone flat, and Merlin was weak at the knees, his body was begging him to sink down onto Arthur’s lap and show him exactly how much he did like him – but he couldn’t, he just couldn’t, kiss him with the same lips that he’d lied with, and hold him with the hands that had broken so many things, he _couldn’t_ …

“I –” Merlin began, feeling his throat close up and stopping.

“It’s OK, Merlin. You don’t have to pretend, there’s no obligation.” Arthur sounded perplexed, and hurt. “I’m sorry, I was wrong, I really thought…”

“No, no, Arthur,” speech came back to Merlin in a surge. “Arthur, you – you weren’t wrong. You weren’t wrong at all. It’s just, I can’t – there’s – there’s some stuff I haven’t told you, and –”

Arthur shook his head furiously, lifted his hands up to rest on Merlin’s hips, grounding him.

“I don’t care,” he said fiercely. “I don’t care what it is. There’s stuff about me that you don’t know, too. Of course there is. But that’s what – that’s what people do, right? They get to know each other, they learn things about each other, new things every day. It doesn’t mean that we can’t…”

“But Arthur, this stuff, it’s, um. It’s pretty bad. You won’t like it.”

Arthur paused, one thumb stroking small circles around Merlin’s hipbone, making his breath stutter a little.

“I see,” he said, after a moment. “Merlin, look. I don’t want to come on too strong, I don’t want to say too much –”

“You can’t,” said Merlin instantly, finally finishing unwrapping the bandage and moving his left hand to cup Arthur’s cheek. “You can’t say too much. Say whatever you want to say. I’m not going anywhere, I won’t be angry.”

Something in Arthur seemed to unwind; he closed his eyes, leaned into Merlin’s hand.

“Oh god,” he said softly. “Thing is, Merlin, I’m in pretty deep already. And I think - this stuff you haven’t told me, whatever it is, even if I hate it – I still want to give this a go. I want you to trust me enough to tell me, eventually, and then we’ll work through it. Because I think, what we have here, the way that you – the way that I f-feel, I…” Arthur stuttered to a halt.

Merlin realised that his mouth was hanging slightly open, and pressed his lips shut. He leaned down and kissed Arthur gently on the forehead. Arthur skimmed his hands down Merlin’s thighs, pushed hard at the backs of his knees so that Merlin slid down onto his lap, his legs folded on either side of Arthur’s, their faces so close to each other that Merlin could feel the puff of breath on his lips as Arthur sighed. He pressed their foreheads together.

“This is madness, you know,” Merlin said. “Sheer folly.”

“Insanity.”

“Craziness.”

“Lunacy.”

“Delirium.”

“And yet…” murmured Arthur, bringing one hand away from Merlin’s hip to wrap around his waist, pull their bodies closer. Merlin smiled wryly.

“And yet,” he agreed, rubbing his nose down the side of Arthur’s. He sighed. “Arthur, I – I’m scared.”

He heard Arthur suck in a breath, then felt hands on his shoulders, pushing him away. Arthur looked at him sternly.

“We can take this as slowly as you want, OK?” he said seriously. “I’m not in any rush.”

Merlin nodded, his throat too closed up to speak. He felt the wine in him settling low in his belly, making him feel soft and sleepy.

“Arthur, can I go to sleep in your bed tonight?” he asked. He felt Arthur’s grin rather than seeing it, and couldn’t keep a matching expression from creeping over his own face.

“Yes, Merlin,” Arthur said. “As long as you don’t steal all the blankets.”

“I don’t ever do that. I’m a model bed-sharer.”

“I’ll believe that when it’s morning and I’m not freezing cold.”

Merlin snorted. Suddenly, without warning, Arthur attempted to stand; Merlin tried to cling on to the bed but ended up flopping to the floor with a distinct lack of elegance. He stared up at Arthur in shock for a few seconds before laughing.

“What was that for?” he asked, punching Arthur’s knee gently.

“Sorry, forgot that would happen,” replied Arthur with a mischievous grin.

“Where were you even going?”

“To the bathroom, I haven’t done my teeth yet,” Arthur said primly.

“You can be bothered to do your teeth right now?” said Merlin, curling his top lip.

“Dental hygiene is _very important_ , Merlin,” Arthur said emphatically, wending his way to the bathroom. “You’re coming too, you have to brush yours.”

“You’re so bossy,” Merlin called after him, hauling himself to his feet and following.

“But you love it,” Arthur replied, making a face at him in the bathroom mirror. Merlin stuck out his tongue and grabbed his toothbrush, coating it in far too much toothpaste. Arthur, meanwhile, spat neatly into the centre of the plughole and rinsed his mouth; Merlin leaned into him, nudging him forward and making him hit his nose on the tap.

Arthur turned around with a mock-angry expression and a little red mark on his nose. He cocked his head quizzically and raised an eyebrow.

“What was that?” he demanded.

“Um. Horseplay?” Merlin said with a winning smile. Arthur seemed to consider for a moment.

“No, you’re doing it wrong,” he said, reaching over to steal Merlin’s toothbrush, which had been poised next to Merlin’s mouth. Before he could react, toothpaste had been swiped across Merlin’s top lip, leaving him with a red, blue and white moustache.

“Hey!” he said, grabbing for his toothbrush, but Arthur calmly dodged his attempts.

“Say sorry,” he said. “Or I’ll stick it up your nose.”

“Gross! You wouldn’t –” Merlin began, but Arthur raised an eyebrow wickedly and Merlin felt his certainty falter. “Sorry.”

“Very good, Merlin. Now brush your teeth.”

“You really do like giving orders, don’t you?” Merlin asked as Arthur went to leave the bathroom. The other man paused in the doorway.

“Actually, not really,” he said after a moment, smiling softly, a little embarrassed. “It’s just you, Merlin. I like telling you what to do.”

“We can definitely make that work, later,” Merlin said, his tone carefully neutral. Arthur’s smile widened and he turned away, heading for the bed. Merlin looked at himself in the mirror: he was an absolute sight, cheeks flushed, eyes glowing, hair a mess. Arthur wanted to make things work, Arthur cared enough about him that it didn’t matter to him that he didn’t know the whole truth… he felt the constant knot of guilt in his gut unravel a little. Perhaps it wasn’t wrong to let this happen. He’d tell Arthur, when the time came. And then they’d work through it, just like he’d said.

“Come to bed, Merlin,” Arthur called, and Merlin caught himself wearing a wide, dopey smile as he turned to follow Arthur out of the bathroom. He was in way over his head, and he was loving it.

*

The alarm went off at seven fifteen. A few moments before, Arthur woke slowly, gently; weak sunlight leaked through the shutters, leading him with a light hand towards consciousness. He breathed deeply, feeling the weight of Merlin’s arm slung over his tummy, the soft press of his chin against his shoulder.

“Mmmgh,” Merlin said, reaching out behind him to shut off the alarm and knocking the clock off the bedside table. He groaned.

“Moron,” Arthur murmured, eliciting a soft, croaky chuckle.

“You get it.”

Arthur pushed Merlin’s arm away reluctantly, leaned over him to grab the clock and turn off the shrill ringing. He stayed sitting up, rubbing a hand over his stubble and looking back at Merlin, who was scowling, his fluffy black hair in disarray.

“It’s barely light,” he grumbled. “Let’s go back to sleep.”

“No, you promised the Rialto,” Arthur said, digging him in the side. Merlin scrunched up small, hugging the blankets tighter.

“We can see the Rialto next time,” Merlin insisted, hiding his grin by burying his face in the pillow.

“Absolutely not,” Arthur said, giving Merlin a hefty push which sent him tumbling to the floor. “Come on, you said dawn was the best time to go. The tourists will arrive soon, we have to go.”

The puddle of blankets on the floor gave a low, unappreciative noise of disapproval.

“You _promised_ , Merlin,” Arthur reminded him, and that was the end of the argument.

*

The walk to the Rialto was short but sweet, the narrow streets bright and crisp with frost. The clouds overhead were low and thick, folded out above the city in ridges, holding it in a chainmail embrace. The canals were impossibly blue; the bridges lay arched over them like delicate, swooning ladies reclining on cerulean couches. Merlin exchanged a few words with the Venetians setting up their displays outside the rows of shops while Arthur watched, eyes on Merlin’s mouth, trying to decipher the meaning. When they moved away, Merlin was smiling slightly in confusion.

“How did you even manage to talk to the kids back in Palermo? Your Italian is pretty terrible, if you couldn’t follow that,” he said. “I just asked them the time.”

“Your accent is strange, and so is theirs,” Arthur said defensively.

“I have the same accent as the children from Palermo,” Merlin pointed out as they turned a corner into another narrow street, with pale white light lying like lace over the window frames and in their hair.

“I didn’t really speak to them that much,” Arthur admitted. “They had a football, and one afternoon I went over and played with them. Taught them tricks, showed them a few things, better tactics. More and more started turning up, of their own accord. I got them some shirts, red and yellow, for the two teams. They loved them,” he said with a small smile. “They used to fight, sometimes, and I’d break it up. They’d shout at me in Italian, and I’d tell them I didn’t care. Sul campo, non importa.”

Merlin nodded, his expression solemn as they continued to wend their way down through the Venetian streets.

“At the start, if a kid got tackled too hard, the others would laugh. After a week, his team mates would pick him up. After two, the kid who’d made the tackle would help him to his feet. I was making a difference to them, Merlin. It was important. After three weeks, they were letting the girls join in – passing to them, joking with them, treating them like equals. That was when I got a visit from, uh, Cenred?”

Merlin’s insides froze at the sound of the name.

“Yeah, one of the bosses,” he said.

“Yes. He explained to me that everyone in Palermo has their position, and they must keep to it. Girls here don’t play football, he said. Boys here don’t become footballers, they go into the family business. I was teaching them things that they shouldn’t learn, he said, very politely. I was a bit less polite when I disagreed with him.”

Merlin was silent, pretending to concentrate on the street names. So this was why Morgause, Cenred’s wife, had sent Nimueh after Arthur. It had seemed so incongruous to send a high-ranking member of the Family after an unimportant Englishman who played football, but if Arthur had caused personal offence to Cenred, it was small wonder that they wanted to make an example of him.

“Have you heard of Cenred?” Arthur asked.

“Um,” Merlin said, turning his head to hide his consternation whilst appearing to look for the yellow sign pointing the way to the Rialto. Of course he’d heard of Cenred. He’d sat at Cenred’s table, played cards with him and Lancelot, looked into his cold, black eyes on the day that he’d condemned Freya.

“Merlin? You OK?” Arthur looked concerned. “We’re not lost, are we?”

“Hmm? Oh. No, no, it’s this way,” Merlin said, moving off again. “Yes, I’ve heard of Cenred. He’s a nasty piece of work.”

“It was the way he just… just condemned these kids, you know? Sentenced them to the exact same life that he’d had. It wasn’t fair, it made my blood boil. They were good kids, some of them, anyway. They deserved better.”

“Yes,” Merlin said. “I understand.”

“And someone had to do something to stop it. I know you think that I was stupid to do it, you’ve told me so. I didn’t stop when I should have done, and this is the result. Maybe it _was_ stupid, but I couldn’t just –”

“No, Arthur,” Merlin interrupted. “I was wrong, saying what I did to you back then. I was defending a system that’s corrupt and toxic, just because the last time I tangled with it, everything went wrong. I suppose I – I’ve learned not to argue. You weren’t afraid, you did the right thing. That’s amazing.”

Arthur cast a quick glance over at Merlin, apparently searching for some sign of sarcasm and, finding none, ducking his head in embarrassment and wordlessly reaching for Merlin’s hand.

“We’re here,” Merlin said, squeezing Arthur’s fingers with his own. They crested the few steps up to the long, white bridge and began climbing the gentle slope.

“Don’t look to the right,” Merlin said.

“What? Why – ?” Arthur began, turning, and Merlin squawked and clapped his hands over Arthur’s eyes. “Stop it, Merlin, that’s so undignified –”

“Like anybody’s looking, it’s deserted, you moron,” Merlin replied. “I want it to be a surprise. OK, keep walking forward. Bit further, bit further.”

“Are you – I bet this was your plan all along. Lure me to the bridge, pitch me over the side.”

“Well,” said Merlin, “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about doing you in. You’re so annoying, you see.”

“ _Merlin_ –”

“OK, OK, just a few more steps. Ready? I’m going to take my hands away.”

“I’m ready,” Arthur said, a moment after Merlin lifted his hands.

*

The view that Arthur saw had been immortalised thousands of times by countless artists; he’d seen pictures in art galleries, and in his mother’s old photo albums, since this was where his parents had spent their honeymoon at her request. As he looked, soaking it in, he felt the past layering over the present: his father, young and carefree, gesturing his mother into the frame as he snapped a shot with his old film camera; himself, young and serious, poring over the photo with his mother, watching the glow of remembered joy pass across her thin features; and now here, standing in the dawn light with Merlin at his side. He could imagine his mother, leaning far out over the balustrade to peer down at the swirling water; he felt close to her, as though she stood beside him with her long pale hands inches from his own and a smile on her face. The early-morning sun over the darkly silhouetted city was as white and clean as a ship’s sail, carrying him back to the present. The Grand Canal was mostly empty that morning, bluer than the faded photo had made it seem. Merlin’s hand was warm in his own. Their breaths were twin plumes of white, curling together up towards the iron sky. Arthur looked up to watch them until they faded, and felt a speck of cold land on his forehead. He reached up to touch it, and his fingertip came away wet.

“Merlin,” he said slowly. “Merlin, I think it’s –”

“It can’t be,” Merlin said. “It hardly ever –”

“It is,” Arthur said wonderingly, touching his hand to the white flakes landing on Merlin’s jacket. He turned to look back at the Grand Canal, and saw them falling there, too: soft crystalline shards of frozen water, obscuring the view. He turned back to Merlin, who looked stunned, his lips parted in surprise as he gazed up to the sky. He took a deep breath, feeling the freezing air touch the bottom of his lungs, making him feel washed clean inside.

“It’s snowing,” Arthur said, hearing the break in his voice and not caring. Merlin tilted his head down to meet Arthur’s eyes.

“Are you OK?” he asked, seeing the wetness gathered at their corners. Arthur pressed his lips together to stop them trembling, and nodded twice.

“I’m – just – _happy_ ,” he said, and then gave a little deprecating laugh with a hitch at the end.

Merlin was looking at him with the light of a thousand stars in his eyes; he brought his hand up to cup Arthur’s cheek. Arthur pressed his own cold fingers over Merlin’s, keeping his eyes open, blinking away the tears. With his other hand, Merlin pressed against Arthur’s lower back, drawing him closer. The snow was falling thickly now, landing in their hair and on their shoulders; one flake rested delicately on Merlin’s eyelashes. Arthur brought up his thumb to brush it away, trailed it back down along Merlin’s cheek. Merlin leaned closer, pressed their cold noses against each other. When their lips were a millimetre apart, he paused; Arthur felt him breathe out deeply, shudderingly. He drew that air into his lungs, Merlin’s air; he pushed his hand through soft dark hair, Merlin’s hair; he leaned forwards and pressed his lips against cool, curved, chapped, perfect lips, Merlin’s lips. _Merlin’s_ lips, tasting of peppermint and snow and something indefinable, something specifically Merlin. Arthur kissed and kissed, wanted to know that taste in his mouth forever, wanted these lips always against his own, his tongue tasting, Merlin’s mouth opening, rough and ecstatic and perfect, so perfect, so perfect, so…

The snow was in Arthur’s mind. It was whirling him around, leaving him euphoric and breathless and light, ready to float away himself with only Merlin’s hands on his face and his back holding him in place. When they broke apart, Merlin’s eyes were still closed; Arthur brought up a hand, stroked along his lashes gently, wanting to see them. They opened; Merlin looked, and looked, and Arthur was known – known, right through to his bones, as though between their eyes there lay a road along which all emotions could travel, unspoken and yet understood.

They lingered on the bridge for a couple of minutes more, then a few more after that. The snow fell around them, colouring them white, blending them into the stone of the bridge – that old, old bridge that had stood for centuries, unshaken by the passing of the years.


End file.
